Might As Well
by Red Ringo
Summary: Johnny C killed Edgar Vargas. Johnny knows that. Edgar knows that. What Edgar doesn't know is how he has been living in Johnny's basement for the past few weeks. He decides it's time to leave, but things go quite astray. Can he survive this encounter?
1. Isolation

Might As Well

**MIGHT AS WELL**

**BLAH, BLAH, BLAH**

I seriously can't title anything. Well, I can (_hack_) but it's always really stupid. So... that's the title for now (and it shall also be known as 'MAW'). Just don't worry about it for now, a'right? Um. So. Please and thank you, poppies.

This will probably end up to be slash in the end. Some pairing between Jimmy or Edgar or Johnny. One combination or other (Edgar/Johnny, for the win). Yep. Whether you like it or not. Whether _I_ like it or not. So... go now or forever hold your peace.  
Or however that goes.

There will probably be differences in character personality (because I suck) and plot (because Edgar+ Jimmy need to live) and original characters (like, two, and also because I suck). Also, there will _always _be _epic-long _author's rants in the start and finish of my updates (because I rule). Deal with it.

You can point out the character flaws (for Jhonen's characters), but please don't gripe at me for other stuff. I can't handle it (because. I. _suck_).

Yeah, this whole JtHM thing... it's not mine. It's Jhonen Vasque_z_'s. Beautiful.

**ONE  
**** Isolation**

Edgar Vargas might as well not exist.

Edgar Vargas himself agreed with this idea. He fully supported it, really. And, a few weeks ago, he had been brutally murdered. Well, it may have been a month at this point. He couldn't be sure.

Edgar Vargas had stopped existing yet here he sat, crouched in an ill-used guest bedroom. He was not alone; there were about four other people sharing the space with him. Albeit the fact they were all more noisome then he previously believed feasible, Edgar found (to his absolute horror) that he liked being in the rooms with corpses more than he did the empty ones. He felt safer. Less alone.

Perhaps he had become a bit twisted in his isolation.

The room was dark, like the others. Dark and humid. The air smelled of iron and the dust made his eyes itch terribly. He snee_z_ed and his eyes watered and burned. He was starving and he was fairly sure he had a fever. He didn't have anything to throw up. He wondered if there was even any bile in him anymore. He'd thrown up so much over the weeks. All of the corpses. The insects...

There was more than one bug in the house. Contrary to what Nny believed, there was more than one. Many more, as Edgar knew.

He knew the place now. He'd lived there for a long time. He'd found everything there was to find, surely. He had found the room he died in, even. Which was all in all a very strange thing to find. At first he had been calm, but as he'd neared the killing machine he'd become more and more nauseated. Nothing had changed. In fact, Edgar was fairly sure Johnny had stopped using the machine altogether. He didn't quite know what to think of this.

As has been stated, many of the rooms harbored corpses (they'd be moved at a later time) but many more held captives. Edgar hated those rooms the most. Those rooms were the worst.

Edgar stood up and wiped a tear from his cheek. He had not actually been crying, but the air in the room was affecting making his eyes water excessively. At this point, the irritant had become too much to bear, to he stood up and he left the room cautiously. Quickly, he slipped into another not far down the eerie hall.

Now Edgar was in an altered laundry room some three floors down. The walls were cracked and scratched, the white paint faded and discoloring. This was one of his favorite rooms because it smelled less like blood, sweat, and death and more like detergent. Detergent was a good smell. No corpses, though. No company. And there was also the fact that some of the drywall was completely absent, revealing the insulation and structure of the house inside. This made him worry about pests and other things crawling in from somewhere unseen. It might be an unreasonable thing to worry about, but he still didn't like it. Once he dreamt of Johnny C.'s skeletal hand creeping out from the depths of the wall. The rest of him followed, and the maniac was seen there, standing and grinning cra_z_ily.

Edgar was not interested in seeing this apparition come to life, and therefore he did not come to this room often. It was there merely for him to clear his head and revive some of the sanity he might have lost in the rooms full of rotting abductees.

Edgar jumped as crumbs of plaster slid down the wall to rest in a pile on the damaged floorboards. Scratched by weapons, fingernails. Something big, heavy... being moved.

Anyway...

A month ago Edgar had stopped existing and this was something he did not object. There couldn't possibly be _one person_ to object. This considering the fact that the only person he had spoken to within _months_ of his termination was Johnny C. And Johnny C. had been the person to terminate him.

As one can surely see, nobody really cared for keeping Edgar Vargas around.

Maybe this was why he was alive again...? He didn't really know. He'd been told the reason (if that had really been what had happened), but it just hadn't made much sense to him at the time. However, it didn't make much sense to him at present, either, and he'd been thinking heavily on it for quite a while now:

"Johnny C. was not supposed to kill you," the angel had stated drearily.

Edgar stared. He didn't really know what he could say to this. Yes, Johnny had acted out of turn, and, yes, Edgar was now officially dead. There wasn't much you could do about that. About being _dead_.

The angel was young looking and, as one might expect, rather beautiful. The other angels Edgar'd seen were average (in some cases below average) looking people. This angel was the first he found to have a halo and the first he found to have clean white clothes and shining, blonde hair. This angel was quite the epitome of what most people imagined them all to be. A cliché character altogether.

This discluding his rather errant personality.

"I don't think I'm making this hard to _understand_..." the angel mused to the side. He seemed frustrated and upset, as though Edgar was causing everything to go horribly wrong.

Hell, maybe he was. Edgar would not be surprised. Ruining things was something he could really do. Unfortunately, this had not been something he could be paid to do back when he was living. When he was living. Because he was dead. He was just really finding that to be a hard thing to grasp, no matter how 'ready' he had been there in front of Johnny in those restraints.

"I'm sorry, I just... he wasn't _supposed_ to? So there are things he is supposed to do?" Edgar didn't understand why they needed to be having a conversation about it. He wasn't supposed to kill him? Why? Edgar hadn't been doing anything useful with himself...

The angel, who's nametag read "Eri_z_alem", (also the holiest name Edgar had seen thus far, discounting the rather unattractive fact that the angel was wearing a _nametag_) spoke again. This time, to Edgar, "Simply put, _you're_ supposed to be _alive_."

So... what did that mean? Edgar didn't know. He wished the angel would answer the questions fully. Though, he hadn't really asked much to begin with.

"So you're going back."

Panic struck Edgar, but before he could object, Eri_z_alem gave him a rough shove.

By which Edgar had landed in some dark room on his ass.

He had promptly recogni_z_ed the smell, sounds, the overall _atmosphere_. Back in Johnny's house, where he had died. The panic hadn't quite left him, and the disheveled Edgar shot to his feet and out of the room. He had continued to move through the rooms periodically, and he had even found the ground level floor, but he had been too nervous to intrude upon it.

So he'd spent the days, hiding in different rooms with the company of corpses and, in few cases, captives. He didn't like talking to the living because it made him guilty, for he did not have the courage to free anyone. Besides, he was fairly sure they would be killed anyway, and he'd be revealed.

He had planned on escaping today (only an entire month after being returned here), but it hadn't happened yet. But… he'd been planning to escape every day for the past _week_, and he had not once come close. If Johnny found him...

Well, he didn't know what would happen. Maybe that's why the idea seemed too unattractive to him.

But that was stupid, wasn't it? Being afraid of something he didn't know. Something just minimally unpredictable. Technically, that's what it was. He found this absurd. He didn't like it much at all.

With sudden determination and rebellion, Edgar stood up. He left the room without even peering outside and sauntered confidently through the ill-lit halls. Unfortunately, the way was long and he had much too much time to think about what he was doing. His confidence leaked rapidly from him and his posture made evident changes as he went. His pace became heavy and his expression was dreadful. His shoulders drew up to show he was on his defense and his hands came up, too. Edgar was sure he looked pathetic in his nervousness, though he believed this to be justified, considering his situation.

A gunshot.

Edgar looked up as though he might be able to see the source and quickly found himself hurrying along the corridor. Eventually, he found himself running. He had an odd feeling. The atmosphere had changed. For better or for worse he couldn't tell. But he knew this was his chance. Somehow.

So, having plotted a course many weeks ago, Edgar fled and finally found the staircase. He paused for only a second before bounding up the concrete steps. There was much adrenaline in him.

He could hear arguments ahead and behind. The one ahead he couldn't understand at all. The rumbling and explosions not far behind (these had begun not long ago, but he only now registered them), however, kept him going. The voices got closer and Edgar dodged into a conveniently placed torture room so as not to be spotted.

Two startlingly short shadows passed through the room briefly before vanishing. The... _beings _had passed. The si_z_e and shape just hadn't seemed human. Edgar decided he hadn't the time to question it. He went to hurry out, but he stopped himself. He was close to something... he could feel it.

He'd been able to feel an awful lot lately. Maybe he was sharper under pressure.

Eri_z_alem appeared in the doorway, a darker being beside him. Much darker. Not an angel. Thick black locks of hair fell to his ears and pale, sickly skin shined in contrast to the demon's choice of attire. Black jeans. Black boots, much like Nny's only thicker and much more heavy-duty. A black T-shirt and a long, rather nice, black coat. Two horns sprouted from his head and jutted backwards. They were fairly large, and, of course, black. Like Edgar, this demon had a large nose. His, however, seemed a bit more attractive. Less of a bad thing.

He had a nametag, like Eri_z_alem, though the colors were inverted. 'Ham_z_a'.

This Ham_z_a strode forward quickly. There was vicious intent, Edgar could see, but he wasn't able to retaliate and his shirt was grabbed callously. He found himself thrown against the wall. His glasses slid down his nose a bit and he ended up a bit disheveled from the assault. The air had been forced from his lungs; he'd hit the wall hard, apparently.

"Do you know how _annoying _you are!?" Ham_z_a spoke with a heavy Arab accent. And he _was_ very annoyed. But not very Arab-looking.

Edgar looked at him reluctantly and found that the demon's eyes were mismatched. One red (the left) with a slitted pupil. The other a pleasant blue, much like Eri_z_alem's own. For some reason Edgar was unaffected by this. Though the red eye was vaguely disturbing and very intimidating.

Eri_z_alem stepped forward, out of the background. Folded his arms impatiently.

Ham_z_a recoiled, "_Shit_," he spat, releasing Edgar with another shove. He moved away, and as he turned Edgar saw that his hair, in actuality, stretched to his shoulder blades. It had been tied back. Weird do this guy had going on.

Eri_z_alem stepped forward to take the demon's place as Ham_z_a stood away, sulking. Eri_z_alem smiled and Edgar turned his attention to him, "Um..."

"You need to hurry. I think it's already too late... but hurry. Go on," Eri_z_alem pointed for the door and Edgar hurried out, confused. He searched for the front door, for the escape. He was already over his meeting with the celestial beings. He didn't even wonder what he was too late for. He vaulted up the stairs, shivering from the adrenaline. From the anticipation of finally being able to get home. As soon as he reached the top, however, he froze. Johnny was close…

"Kck... Rckkkchk... _Edgar Vargas_."

The Edgar Vargas in question shuddered and a violent wave of nausea swept over him. He swayed before turning to the twitching, bloody Nny.

That explained the change of atmosphere. Edgar thought this was a sufficient explanation, anyway.

And he found that the change had, in fact, been _both _a good thing _and _a bad one. Good, Nny could not hurt him (a safe conclusion to come to). Bad, he was bleeding and dying on the floorboards and Edgar couldn't handle it.

Edgar was no weakling.

This is only half a lie.

See, Edgar was not one to keep his anger or frustration contained (this includes most of his other emotions as well, unfortunately) and could, actually, be quite vicious. Quite unforgiving. He could be quite terrible. He could stand up for himself and his beliefs (if he actually had any other than God and Jesus Christ, that is). This was not weak in the slightest. Expression takes a bit of bravery.

However, Edgar had a weak stomach and a weaker heart. Or it could be said that he had a strong heart, it merely depends on one's opinion.

This means that seeing Nny so destroyed there on his cracked, scratched, shoddy floorboards made Edgar want to throw up and pass out. Therefore, a bad change in the atmosphere. Blood on the floor and maybe some vomit depending on how the guy was feeling.

And he was _not _feeling good.

Besides throwing up whatever might still be in him, Edgar wanted to hurry to the sickly maniac and assist him. He was suffering, surely. Edgar didn't want to see him suffer. Even if he was Johnny C.

He bent and his hands hovered over the corpse-to-be. There wasn't anything he could do.

"I'm... already dead?" Johnny asked the room.

"No..." he didn't feel like explaining his resurrection at the moment.

"Oh..." Johnny twitched and refused to look directly at him.

Edgar didn't much mind, though he did wonder if Johnny _could _look at him.

"SHIT!" an Arabic voice screamed. Edgar swept the room with blurry eyes and found no one. Ham_z_a was reacting to something else now.

Voices coming up the stairs had him moving again. He doubted the owners posed any threat at all, but he still couldn't help but feel endangered. He moved away from Johnny and behind some furniture to watch something truly peculiar happen.

Krik and Tess hurried into the room.

In any other situation, Edgar would be happy to see Tess. She would probably have been happy, too. However, something was wrong, and neither of them were in the mood for a reunion. Besides, he was preoccupied with being invisible.

Edgar did not see Dillon.

Tess had replaced that jackass with another one. Krik. He'd met Krik a very long time ago, when he was first abducted. He was shocked to see the man still alive, really. Maybe Johnny had really wanted to torture this guy. He appeared rather... _alright_, though. Edgar decided it didn't really matter why or how Krik was still alive. He just was. He ran through all of their past conversations, and remembered that all of them had been pretty much one-sided. They consisted of nothing but Krik's complaints and what he objected about his situation and whatnot. Oh, and lots of talk about kicking people's asses and how dorky and skinny Nny was.

Edgar had trouble finding Johnny 'dorky' but he supposed that was just him.

But he and Tess. Wow, they'd had some really great conversations on that day a few months ago. He was surprised to see her, too, simply because he didn't know that Johnny kept people around so long.

Edgar was going to save Tess. Because she didn't belong here. Not at all. They'd talked almost all day, and then Edgar told her that he couldn't save her. That he was a coward who could do nothing but try and save himself. The next day, he went to save her, because of the torment he'd felt in those lonely hours. But she was gone. Moved, or killed. He hadn't been able to find her, for she'd been moved deeper in, and there was a certain point where he refused to move lower. It got creepier the farther down one went.

Edgar snapped to attention as the atmosphere in the house (...building) changed again. He could _feel_ Johnny react to their arrival. And the maniac began to move slow and robot-like. One motion at a time. One arm reached then drug his tiny body forward. Slow, yet jerky movements, and Johnny drove himself across the wood, a huge smear of blood trailing behind him. He twitched as he went, for he was definitely not supposed to be moving around. Someone had shot him in the head.

For some reason, Ham_z_a's face came to mind. It went as soon as it came, however, for the idea was completely ridiculous. Besides, Edgar doubted Eri_z_alem would allow that.

No matter how much of a complete shit Johnny was.

And Edgar followed the crippled maniac. He moved from the wardrobe to the end table where the phone sat.

Krik had been screaming a lot, but only now did Edgar tune in. And this only because Johnny had begun to speak, "_Hssss_... You won't be going anywhere. You're dying too. _Kkchh..._" Edgar's attention shifted to Krik, who threw a ridiculous fit.

Edgar had always thought his head looked like a potato.

Not a minute later, Nny voiced his identical opinion.

Edgar almost laughed. He might have let out a small chuckle, but Johnny kept talking, and what he said was interesting. Well, weird, really.

So everything was vanishing? Was that because he was dying? Or because of the anomaly Edgar could still sense in the atmosphere? It was crushing, but there was nothing much he could do to escape it quite yet.

The door was mere feet away.

Edgar wouldn't be able to leave until he died, or until Johnny did.

Johnny C. was a horrible person, but Edgar would feel guilty just leaving him to suffer. To die alone on the cheap wood.

Edgar was a fool.

A mention of the "Wall Thing", which Edgar remembered talking about before he died. The reason he died. Maybe that was what this was all about. Maybe Edgar was alive again because of this Wall Thing. But neither Ham_z_a or Eri_z_alem had mentioned anyt-

"That's it!! Say goodbye to what's left of your head!!"

Edgar shot to his feet, "_No, don't_-!"

Krik did not even pretend to hear him. Nny, half a second before having his skull cave in on him, looked at Edgar with a curious, calculating expression.

He had no expression, then. He had no face that Edgar could see.

His stomach turned and he stumbled backwards. Fell on his ass. Potato Head went on with his business, still unrelenting when Tess swore.

The Wall Thing burst through the floor and Edgar stopped existing for the second time in a month.

"What the_ fuck_, Vargas?!" Ham_z_a stood above him, arms crossed. His clothes had not changed. Nothing about him had.

Eri_z_alem was equally without novelty and they both stood, side-by-side, giving him disapproving looks. It was very unnerving, especially for someone like Edgar, who didn't like having people angry at him without knowing the reason. He supposed not many people _did _like that, but that wasn't the point.

"Um. I failed..." he guessed, finally. Eri_z_alem shook his head in pity and wandered off. His halo seemed less... glowy, but it could be the fact that they were somewhere white. Everything was white. The ground... the 'sky'... Well, Edgar was not all white. His shirt (which he had been wearing for much too long now) was a faded green with black stripes. His dark jeans were becoming damaged. Worn. They were his good jeans. Not anymore, though. Not after enduring Johnny's basement for so long.

Hamza wasn't all white, either, though the milieu was really hurting his complexion. Shave his hair, he might appear to have no head at all, just two glowing, mismatched eyes.

Ham_z_a in charge. Edgar didn't like Ham_z_a very much. Not as much as Eri_z_alem, but that was to be expected, really.

"Yes, you fucking failed!" Ham_z_a cawed. He threw his hands up in a huff and moved about a bit to divert his energy away from punching Edgar in the face. Eri_z_alem seemed to be offended by the swearing. He shifted uncomfortably and gave Ham_z_a a look.

Edgar dared to ask, "What did I fail at, though?"

Ham_z_a turned to him and gave him a curious look. It soon melted back into hate.

Edgar hated hate very much. Nothing muchly good ever came of it. He knew a lot of bad did. Lots of bad things happened because of hate. He just wanted everything to be nice for everyone. And no matter how impossible he knew this was, he believed in it, and hoped for it.

He wondered briefly if Ham_z_a really did hate him. Maybe it was just frustration. _Lots_ of frustration.

He doubted it.

"He didn't even _know_..." lots of hate in the demon's voice. But Edgar felt none of it directed towards himself.

Eri_z_alem sensed a change in things and sauntered over casually, much less tense than he had been. He smiled at Edgar, who adjusted his glasses awkwardly in response. Eri_z_alem was as intimidating as ever.

"I'm sorry, Ham_z_a," Eri_z_alem said, still smiling strangely at Edgar, "I was sure he knew."

Somewhere behind Eri_z_alem now, Ham_z_a exploded yet again. His gloved hands were thrown into the air just like before and the angel was forced to move his attention to the unhappy demon.

"You always say that, Erick! You have_ too _much faith in these people!!" Ham_z_a had apparently decided to shorten the angel's name to Erick. It wasn't completely off beam, either. Eri_z_alem was very much an 'Erick'.

He wondered if anyone had ever called Ham_z_a 'Hammy' and what would happen if one were to try. Nothing good, he was sure.

"I have not enough," Eri_z_alem said in some sort of wise, old wi_z_ard voice. Ham_z_a snorted, causing Eri_z_alem to reali_z_e that he had not said anything insightful or impressive in the least. The angel seemed embarrassed, which was kind of weird. Edgar had been viewing him as strong and prestigious, but his embarrassment was very contrary to this persona. He was not much of an important angel at all. And Ham_z_a was not much of an important demon.

The two were friends.

Edgar took on a calculating look that moved alternatively between them as they bickered colloquially. When they both erupted into sudden mirth, Edgar began to pay attention again.

"Ah, but A_z_ma is such a fool!" Ham_z_a exclaimed, a wide grin set on his pale face.

"Hey, you know I only agree!" Eri_z_alem said, laughing, "And I had even warned Uri_z_ about it, but he went on!"

Ham_z_a laughed again and Edgar reali_z_ed that he had somehow been forgotten.

Their laughter died down a bit and Edgar spoke before they could get into it again, "Am I dead?"

Ham_z_a pouted at the interruption and Eri_z_alem turned to Edgar. There was no surprise on his face, "Oh, I don't know how to answer that."

Ham_z_a's arms were crossed yet again, and his eyes had hardened a bit. But the hate that Edgar was sure he had detected earlier seemed to be gone. So there had been some sort of misunderstanding. He wanted to know what that was. What had he failed at? Why were demons and angels assigning him jobs? He'd been fired from his last one; he was no great worker.

"What?" How had that been a hard question to answer? '_Am I dead?' 'Kinda...' _ That was bullshit and Edgar knew.

Eri_z_alem knew that Edgar knew. He sighed and wiped some imaginary substance from his cheek, "Alright..." he said, making eye contact again (he did it a lot, but Edgar often struggled to maintain it), "You don't exist. But you will, soon. As soon as Señor Diablo gets things straightened out. It should be too long. He's done this before."

"You need to be more specific," Edgar dared.

"The universe doesn't exist right now. We have to start it over, in a sorts."

"And why is that?"

Ham_z_a shook his head, "Forget that."

Edgar stared at him for a moment and confirmed that there was no hostility in Ham_z_a's voice, he was just asking the wrong questions. He tried again, "So where are we now...?"

Eri_z_alem looked about a moment, "Hm. Not sure. Suspended, I guess, since we can't take you to Heaven or Hell."

"Oh. We're in a Locker, then," said Ham_z_a, holding up a clawed finger, "In Hell."

Edgar's heartbeat accelerated then regulated.

"No. I think we'd be in a Storage Closet. Edgar belongs to Heaven," Eri_z_alem corrected calmly, "Besides, this place isn't dark like I'd assume a locker would be."

Ham_z_a "hmph'd" upon being corrected, but he didn't disagree.

So they were in a closet. Okay.

It was a really big closet.

How can they know so little about these things and be so _comfortable_? None of this was normal. Typical. It was all so strange and he didn't like not knowing what was happening to him. It made him nervous.

"I'm pretty sure you're going to end up in Johnny C.'s house again..." Ham_z_a said, sitting down on the... whatever the ground was made of.

Edgar twitched and became a bit incensed, "Why? Why can't I go _home_?" he didn't find this fair at all. It _wasn_'_t _fair. He hadn't done anything to anyone. He couldn't have! He barely left his house unless for a job application or an interview and he'd only been on two of those. They were very uneventful (and unsuccessful). He didn't do anything rude to the employers. Nothing.

Eri_z_alem looked like he could see Edgar's train of thought and he waited patiently for him to calm down, "Because Johnny really-" Ham_z_a interrupted and Edgar didn't catch the rest of the sentence, "Time's up!"

Edgar felt something happening to him, and instinctual fear gripped him for the umpteenth time that day. He felt fading... tired.. he couldn't hear so well...

But he did hear Ham_z_a say this, "Don't you dare just sit around for _two months _this time! Hop to it!"

..._It had been two months!?_

Edgar was dumped on his ass in the room he had stopped existing mere minutes ago. He felt like more time had passed then he knew, but there was no surefire way of telling. He supposed it didn't matter much, anyway. He had nowhere to be whatsoever.

And, y'know, he might as well not exist.

"_Shit..._" he did swear. Swearing was important to him.

"Do you know what's going on?" a truly inquisitive voice. Friendly, even.

But it was still intense enough to nearly send Edgar running and screaming out the door. He didn't fear death. Not at all. It wasn't so bad from what he'd seen already. But he did fear Johnny C. Johnny C. was not normal or predictable. He was not something Edgar was used to in his daily routine (slash _ritual_). Edgar didn't like straying from the usual state of things. It was stressful and he wasn't able to just... he didn't know what he might have to do. How he might handle this. He needed to know these things.

You might just say that Edgar Vargas hated surprises. And this was true. Even of the good variety (and there is a good variety, indeed), Edgar hated surprises.

Edgar finally turned, defeated.

Johnny looked like getting shot in the face had really done him some good. Discounting the fact that the maniac's hair had, for the most part, burned off of his head, Nny looked healthier than before. He'd fleshed out a bit and his complexion was less... gross. He was cleaner, the bags under his eyes had faded some, even. Overall he just seemed less haunted, less troubled. Good. Maybe he wasn't crazy anymore.

"I have no idea, Nny, sorry," he mumbled, surprised he was able to speak at all.

He squinted up at Edgar from his position on the floor (apparently he'd been dumped just as violently as Edgar himself had been), "...You don't know how you're alive? I mean, I was pretty sure you were dead. I remember watching you tear apart-"

Edgar stopped him, "No, no, no, no! I remember that, yeah. No, I remember dying. I don't know why I'm here again." He didn't want to tell Johnny what little he knew. It was nothing, really, but he just couldn't imagine if having any good affects on the killer. Telling him what 'he wasn't supposed to do' just didn't seem to be something he'd go for.

Edgar glanced once quickly at the door he had failed to exit through what seemed to be minutes ago. Funny. He knew Nny left the house. He'd seen it happen. He knew the maniac could be gone for a long time. And, still, Edgar was here. Worrying away in corpse-thick rooms, just _trying _to work up the nerve to _move_. His lips twitched at the humor. He was so pathetic, really. Almost comically so.

Johnny stood. He looked around a bit before turning to Edgar, who tensed upon having Johnny's yellowish ga_z_e fixed to him.

Johnny smiled as pleasantly as physically possible for him, "Are you hungry, Edgar Vargas?"

END ONE

**BLAH, BLAH, BLAH #2**

I'm too impatient to give this chapter a better ending. Hey, I know there's a lot of awkward wording up there. Jes' don't worry about it. Hah, chapter one and I already have two original characters. Just great. (I usually hate OCs in fan-fiction).

Hey, I need your reviews, guys. You don't review, I don't update. I think it makes sense (theoretically).

OVER AND _OUT_.

-**RINGO**


	2. Learning Experience

Might As Well

**MIGHT AS WELL**

**BLAH, BLAH, BLAH**

Upon rereading chapter one, I found I didn't like it. But, really, what fiction-writer actually _likes _the fictions they write? _Wrong_. There are _none_.

Yeah, I just feel that nothing much happened in it and I was trying too hard to type in someone else's style. That style being the style of someone skilled. I'm a wannabe, hi. /annoying, unavoidable pessimism

Chapter two then, shall we? Bundles of fun!

Yeah, this whole JtHM thing... it's not mine. It's Jhonen Vasque_z_'s. Beautiful.

**TWO  
**** Learning Experience**

...Hungry? He wasn't really sure if there was a right answer to the question. In fact, he only cared if there was a _wrong _answer. Y'know, a _dangerous _answer. But Johnny was acting very genial, and he wasn't exhibiting any possibilities of hostility, either. Edgar felt a bit safer than he remembered feeling in Johnny's company before, but still his heart beat remained terribly errant. He took a deep breath and went to speak, but it was only a failed attempt. Nny gave him a curious look as he choked, and waited patiently. What a turn to novelty _that_ was.

"Um…" his voice stopped. He cleared his throat. Another deep breath, "Not-… Not really."

Johnny dusted the imaginary dust from his clothes. The same clothes as he was usually in. Edgar still believed that death had done the killer some good health-wise. Almost ironic, but not quite.

Johnny said, "Oh." Edgar couldn't really tag it with any specific emotion, since it was pretty much completely detached (he focused on everything _but _Edgar). The thorns were present, but Edgar didn't think it was feasible for them not to be.

"Um. So," Edgar felt like he was supposed to be saying something. He reali_z_ed quickly that there wasn't anything he could say. It was up to Johnny. But Johnny wasn't interested in talking. He'd already wandered off into the kitchen. For food, Edgar presumed.

_Or a cleaver._ He shook the thought away, unaccustomed to being so pessimistic. However, he'd never really been forced into a situation where he'd need to be.

Nny never came back. A lot of time passed, but he didn't come back. And he wasn't heard. The perpetual groan of death that the house seemed to have was his only company, and Edgar was more than uncomfortable sitting alone with it. He wondered briefly what had happened to Tess and Krik. Or, well, at least Tess.

He wondered what would happen if he ventured for the door. He could see something horrifying happening. Say… Johnny springing from the ceiling and decapitating him on the spot. Yes. He could see that happening. Or maybe some sort of machine was hooked up to the door, and _it _would kill him as soon as his fingers met the doorknob.

He stood up and approached it. Well, he took two steps. Then he just stopped and stared at it. He was no longer in indecision, for he'd decided that, no, he wouldn't be leaving quite yet. He needed to wait until he had a secure way out. A way he could trust. He was rather sure this was it, but still not sure enough. This decision rendered him inert, and he was aware of how dim he had to look staring blankly at the door. It wasn't even a very interesting door.

"What are you doing?"

Like someone poured ice water over him.

He turned to Nny as though he'd been caught doing something compromising. Something against the rules. By just standing there. He didn't know it quite yet, but he _had_.

Nny came closer, slowly, "Were you thinking about leaving?" he said. He didn't seem angry, but he also wasn't curious, so Edgar became nervous almost instantly. Not that he wasn't nervous before, at the first question.

This was a much more dangerous question than _Are you hungry_? Telling Nny that, yes, he was going to leave might offend the maniac. Telling him, no, he was intending to stick around and have a blast would probably be perceived as a lie.

"Yeah…" he responded, trying to stay calm. He knewJohnny was offended by the fear, sometimes.

"Oh," he paused a moment to reflect on this, staring at his boots, "Why didn't you?" he added, looking up. He seemed genuinely interested now.

"Um… I guess because I have no reason to."

The underlying thorns in his voice rose to the surface quickly at this, "You're lying," his desert eyes narrowed, and the hands he'd had clasped neatly behind him drew to his sides. His bony fists clenched and unclenched. The level of danger in the room elevated considerably. Edgar shivered.

"I... I am?" How eloquent. He found it justified. It was hard to be coherent and intellectual when faced like someone such as Nny. Nny was cra_z_y.

"Of course you are!" Johnny said, and almost laughed, "Maybe you have no family, no friends," Edgar was surprised Johnny remembered that... "but human instinct would have you running out that door." This was true to some degree, and Edgar could merely shrug. He remembered that staying unafraid had saved him last time-

Wait. No, it hadn't. Last time, he _died_. Shit.

"U-um," he couldn't have changed Johnny's mind if he had thought of something anyway.

Johnny came closer, and Edgar fumbled for words, "Hasn't the Wall Thing gone?" he'd stopped the advance successfully, but he couldn't help but to stare warily at the glistening weapon in Nny's hand. Mostly because he never remembered it being there before, and he wished he knew where the hell it had come from. He didn't think Johnny was magic, but the maniac _had _mentioned something about it the first time they met. Something about not being able to die.

Nny was stopped, apparently trying to remember how the fuck Edgar knew about the Wall Thing. He remembered eventually, "Oh. Well, no. That is to say... I don't know."

Edgar's turn to be confused, "You don't? You seemed pretty dedicated before..." he knew he was going to frustrate Nny, send him into some sort of fit, but he was fairly sure he wouldn't be getting hurt as a result. And fairly sure was sure enough, apparently, for he continued, "Is there a way to tell?"

Johnny twitched, "..._Yes_," he snapped, eyeing Edgar with question and hate, "Stop painting the wall. And I'm not interesting in seeing the outcome of _that_," angry spittle flew from his lips with the last word.

"...Oh. Well. Okay. So, are you going to kill me?"

Johnny made a move to do just that, and Edgar was proud that he didn't flinch, didn't blink. He'd seemed to have calmed down. He was getting a hang of what was going on and he still believed in Heaven, (how could he not, having met Ham_z_a and Eri_z_alem?) so his fear was gone.

Johnny stopped and held his hands up, "No. I was in a good mood, and killing you will ruin that. I need to try and make this mood last," he doubted his death would be able to ruin Johnny's mood, so he wasn't quite sure what the psychopath had meant, "I'll go get a Free_z_yyyyy!" Johnny flew out the door and slammed it behind him. (Edgar'd never seen him like that and he freaked out. He reminded himself that Johnny was dreadfully insane, and then, against all logic, calmed down). He heard a car engine start, followed by the distinctive sound of Johnny's old, grey car driving off down the street screechily. Another 2 A.M.

Johnny had left the knife stabbed deep into the wooden door frame. Despite it's smiley-face hilt (where'd Johnny _get _this stuff?), Edgar regarded it strangely like a person he didn't trust, maybe, then moved _z_ombie-like into the other room and fell onto the sofa. As long as he remained awake, he should be alright. He'd leave soon enough.

He noticed rather quickly that if he stayed on that couch for more than two minutes he was going to pass out in fatigue. For some reason, he panicked, and leapt from the couch as though it had burned him, or maybe whispered something obscene and appalling. His first few steps were hurried, nervous, but he calmed down fairly quickly (considering he hadn't much of a reason to panic in the first place because the couch was not burning, nor was it able to whisper).

The doorbell rang and Edgar turned to it slowly, bored.

He made his way over to it (he promised himself he'd been heading there anyway), and opened the door. Expecting, maybe, to see Johnny. For some reason. That didn't make sense and he knew it, but he had the habit of needing excuses for everything he did. He was one of those people who lied to themselves a lot.

He was expecting to see Johnny, and once the door was open he thought for a second that he _was _seeing Johnny. After blinking only once he found he was horribly mistaken. It was probably a good thing that he was wrong- he doubted _this_ guy would shove a knife through his face. He couldn't say as much for Johnny.

The kid had the same, half-shaven head that Johnny used to have before he died. He wore the same, bi_z_arre, striped, torn shirts. He even tried messing his hair up in the same, spikey way Johnny's used to. It wasn't quite there, but he could still see the resemblance. Maybe it was the hair, but he was a lot taller than Johnny. He was taller than Edgar, too, actually.

The kid's face...well, he didn't have such a bad face, but he didn't seem to take care of it very well, for it was peppered with acne. He was wearing lots of eyeliner, lots of eye shadow. He looked, really, like one of those dorky kids you always saw at the mall. Edgar felt bad for labeling him so quickly, but Acne Boy here was very much the epitome.

There was a long silence as Edgar stared at Acne Boy and Acne Boy stared at Edgar.

Acne opened his mouth, a calculating expression on his face. His mouth closed and he cocked his head to the side, "I didn't know he kept _slaves_. Well. I'm surprised!" then, "Can I speak to Johnny C., please?" He'd brightened now. He looked extremely excited. Like a fangirl about to meet the bishie of her dreams.

Edgar didn't know it yet, but that was _exactly_ what was going on.

Then Edgar reali_z_ed he had just been perceived to be a slave. Why, again, had he answered the door? Had there even been a reason?

Another thing registered. Acne knew Johnny's name and he was _actively seeking out _the madman. What the fuck.

"I don't know a Johnny C.," Edgar mumbled, already very uncomfortable. Something bad was happening. He slammed the door but it didn't slam. A very Johnny boot held the door open. Acne looked not happy.

"Um," Edgar became a bit defensive at this point. He stood straighter now, and he became visibly irritated. Like a puffed up bird almost. It was stupid, because Acne was maybe nineteen at oldest, and he'd done nothing threatening quite yet. Just a kid. Edgar thought of everyone who wasn't twenty as 'kid', though.

Edgar was twenty-two. How old was Nny...? He thought about asking Johnny his age, then asked himself why he assumed he'd be talking to him again. After being unable to answer _that _question, he wondered if Johnny would even _know _his own age. For some reason, Edgar doubted it.

A skeletal hand pushed him firmly away from the door and Acne let himself in. Edgar watched him. He had a weird carrying case with him. It was covered with band stickers and a bit worse for wear- it had probably been used a lot. For a second (maybe less) Edgar theori_z_ed that it contained drugs and Johnny was buying them from Acne. That was stupid, he reali_z_ed. He wouldn't be surprised if Johnny killed people _because _they were on drugs.

Well. Then what was in the case? Now that was making him nervous, too. Still... not as nervous as the teenager asking eagerly for his homicidal friend.

_Did I just call Johnny my friend...? Well, shit._ That couldn't be good. Being alone could really mess a guy up, apparently.

"Where is Nny?" Acne asked darkly. His hands were twitching, as if they were searching to grasp something, anything. It was a familiar thing. Edgar had seen it before... Oh. Acne wanted a weapon. Yeah. Acne wanted to kill him.

A stray thought: He was used to people ardent on killing him.

Edgar shivered, which was stupid, too. At least he didn't let his body have it's way and sick all over the floor. Acne killed people. Lots of people. All the time. And he was nineteen.

But he didn't seem very insane. He seemed, well, overall... he seemed to be just some sort of dork (he couldn't get away from the word- it fit too well).

Edgar watched Acne's face distort into a sudden rage, "_You_..." his voice lowered quite a lot more than Edgar thought it could. Acne sounded very evil and Edgar was impressed. Though, Edgar supposed, the kid probably practiced a lot. Well, he looked like he might, anyway.

"You're thinking about me, aren't you?" Acne was dangerous.

Edgar thought that was a weird way to ask, but he understood the question enough. He could feel the expression on his face and he knew it was not one he should have. It was probably very judgmental. Maybe it was even disapproving, like a teacher looked at the bad students. Edgar quickly shook it away, returning to his default, blank-but-slightly-confused/concerned expression. That one didn't attract homicidal tendencies as much as some of his others, as he'd learned from experience.

Sad that Acne was so good at spotting judgmental thoughts- he obviously got them a lot.

Edgar laughed nervously now, and Acne Boy grew, somehow, even more offended.

Edgar had already reali_z_ed, actually, that being intimidated by Acne was completely stupid and completely nonsensical. There wasn't much to be afraid of. Sure, the kid wanted a knife, but he didn't _have _one (Edgar's eyes lingered on Nny's, which still stuck in the door frame, though). Besides, he was frailer than Edgar. Taller, but frailer.

He supposed it could be that he was afraid of everything, though. That was certainly possible.

"Thinking of how _lame_ I am, right!? How I'm a _dork_! How I'm a dirty _fag _just because I wear makeup and I'm_ SKINNY!_" Acne had resorted to screaming.

"Um. No," Edgar said, fear drained. That had been too bi_z_arre. Much too bi_z_arre to come from a _real _dangerous person.

"DON'T LIE TO ME!!" he wasn't much like Nny at all. They had similarities, yes, but they were all a bit tweaked. Well, incredibly tweaked, really.

And then he saw that Acne had a knife, and his case was open. He may have guessed that those were the contents.

"N-n-no! I'm not lying," his words were firm once he was able to ignore the weapon, "I was wondering what you wanted with Johnny," he lied, then. And slipped up bad, too.

"You _do _know him! Liar, liar, LIAR!"

"Ah. Yes. Um," Well, _shit_. How was he supposed to explain _that_? Could he, even?

Acne thrust the knife forward. Edgar dodged with bearing, then held his hands out pleadingly. This was so, so stupid and he couldn't get over it. Why did he answer the door? He knew there couldn't have been anyone _good _on the other side! Hell, he was at _Johnny's house_.

He was really going to have to shape up.

Then, somehow, he was on the ground. Similarity between Johnny and Acne- they both knew how to transport and summon knives from the air, "Tell me, _slave_-"

Edgar couldn't help but roll his eyes and Acne's bony elbow dug painfully into his chest in response. "I'm not Johnny's _slave_," Edgar said through his teeth (this was hurting his dignity, and he wanted up. Trouble- Acne had the knife). Why would Johnny even keep _slaves_? What would he have them do? _Clean the house_?

Acne grinned crookedly, "Oh, you're not? So what are you then? His _friend_? Because Johnny C. has no friends, thank you very much!!" How very adoring. How very _nice_. Edgar couldn't tell if Acne Boy was trying to insult Johnny or defend him.

"What? ...Well... _yeah_. I'm his _best friend_," he didn't actually believe that, really, but why not? He just decided he didn't like Acne (attacking someone and knocking them to the ground while holding a fucking knife to their throat could really hurt a relationship), and he would rub the fact that Acne was wrong all over his pimply face. After all, what did he have to lose? His life, yes. But that was nothing much.

Acne scoffed and pressured the cold blade that he held to Edgar's throat, his laughing turning into a hateful grimace, "_Impossible_," he spat.

Then he screamed.

The knife fell away from Edgar's throat and red splashed his glasses and face. He saw a silver blade poking out of Acne's shoulder and he shivered, the sick coming back to him in one great rush. He bit his lip and panicked momentarily, eager to get away from the boy. As he struggled, he recogni_z_ed a small, yellow smiley-face hilt...

"Nice of you to think I have no friends..." Edgar was shocked. He was _happy _that Johnny was home. _Relieved_.

As Acne rolled off of him, panting and whimpering, Edgar saw the murderer walking in a slow arc towards them them. He looked thoughtful, his skinny arms held behind his back. Another weapon (one of Acne Boy's, now) peeked out from behind him. He had spoken to Acne Boy, for that's where his hate-filled glare was focused.

The kid shivered, "J-Johnny!!" A strange mix of emotion, there. Happiness- absolute _glee_, admiration- but _fear_. And lots of it. Edgar figured it had to do with the knife stuck deep in his shoulder.

Edgar scrambled to his feet now and tried rubbing his glasses off on his shirt. He fumbled with them and put them back on, determined not to miss a single second (he wasn't excited, no, just determined to preserve himself, as usual). But his glasses were worse, now. You couldn't just smear blood fromthe lenses, you could only smear it around. What a pain in the ass.

"Who are you!?" Johnny said, now incensed and screaming, apparently bored with playing composed. But it was easy to make Johnny hysterical.

"I-I-I-I'm Jimmy, _sir_! You can call me Mmy!" He squeaked feebly, trembling, now. Edgar had an inkling that this was not how Jimmy had wanted things to go at all.

Hm. Jimmy, Johnny. Mmy, Nny.

How... _chance_.

"How _original_," Johnny spat, striding over quickly, dangerously, "What were you doing to him?" he flung his knife-wielding hand towards Edgar in indication and Edgar worried briefly that the blade would go flying from his hand and into his chest. He cringed.

Jimmy stared at him and the hate flickered briefly before he turned back to the enraged Johnny C., "I was-! He- _HE_-!!" Oh, no, _no_. You have to be concise with Johnny. You have to give him a straight answer _immediately_. He's not patient. Not at times like this. Not patient because he doesn't actually care about your answer.

Johnny went to plunge in the second knife, but-

"N-_no,_" Edgar jumped, startled. He was acting on instinct, now. Hopefully his instinct could get him out of this as easily as it had gotten him into it. He found he was on his feet, hand outstretched dramatically.

"_What_?" Johnny was angry. _Homicidal_, to put it simply.

"He-... He's just a _kid_, Nny."

Johnny looked down at Jimmy, who only stared, wide-eyed.

"..._Yes_," his tone asked, _And?_

"Just... just let him go. He hasn't done anything to you."

Johnny stared at him, confused. Surprised, even. Still, his gloved hand was tight on the knife's handle, and he was posed for a violent stab. His free arm rose slowly and a skeletal finger rose, pointing at Edgar. Still, the curious expression on his face, "He was going to kill you..."

"N-No, I-!" A glare and Jimmy stopped talking, flinched away.

"...He's just a kid." Edgar repeated, more firmly.

Johnny glared at Jimmy, then forced the knife deep.

Into the floorboards.

Jimmy screamed in alarm and Johnny screamed in rage. Johnny screamed at Jimmy, he screamed at Edgar. He screamed at the room. _Himself_. Then he flew out of the house and, from what Edgar could hear, down the road in his shoddy, grey car.

Assuming that they were safe, Edgar shot to Jimmy's side. Even before Edgar reached him, the kid grabbed the knife, ripped it from his shoulder, and pointed it in his direction threateningly. He looked to be sick to his stomach, but he fought the urge successfully. He struggled to stand as steadily as he could, his arm hanging useless. It was all very unexpected, but also very impressive (and upsetting- Edgar was quite lightheaded by this time). Jimmy closed his eyes, looked away, trying to stay composed, "You. You _ruined _this for me!" Edgar could tell the kid was fit for tears.

Ruined... what? Meeting _Johnny_? If that was it, then, yes, he had_, _technically, ruined it. Done a right good job of ruining it.

Wasn't that the third thing he'd ruined in the past few _hours_? That was hardly fair since he had done nothing but react to the things thrown at _him_. Not to mention that the things thrown at him were homicidal maniacs, angels, devils, and death itself. What could he do?

"I'm sorry," Edgar settled with.

"F-Fuck you!" Jimmy thrust the smiley-knife away, retrieved his own from the floorboards, packed it up, then fled.

Edgar sighed, shuddered, and sat down where he stood. He dropped a heavy head in his hands, eyes closed. He avoided thinking about what just happened, and focused on recovering from it all. He opened his eyes to be greeted with the dirty, rust colored scenery and took his glasses off. He glanced to the side and caught sight of Jimmy's blood. He frowned and stood up again. Shaky, he maneuvered to the wall, then passed out for a mixture of reasons.

"_Grieve not death anymore than the tulips grieve the mite!_

_Grieve not death any more than the ocean grieves the moon!_

_Grieve not death- _OI!! ...fucker._"_

Edgar twitched. Singing? What the hell? Where the fuck had he ended up? Certainly not Johnny's house.

"_Ahem. Grieve not death anymore than the river grieves the bridge!_

_Grieve not- _owoooow_!!- death anymore- ouch- than the- _GAH! Dick!!_"_

Edgar was trying to figure out the odd interjections, then reali_z_ed the singer was being disrupted by someone. He opened his eyes and tried to look around, but he couldn't see at all. His eyes were still fu_zz_y from slumber and he knew the iron of blood was thick in the air for his eyes had begun to itch unbearably. Also, he wasn't wearing his glasses. He felt about...

"_Grieve not death anymore than the later grieves the soon!_

_The candle grieves the breeze!_

_The gentle grieve the stern!_

_The_- OHHH FFFFUCK!! C'mon there, mate, m'about done..."

He found his glasses. He put them on. They weren't clean. He coughed, took them off and wiped at them furiously. He wasn't in the front room anymore- he knew that much. He'd been moved. By Johnny? He was so small, though...

Well, he never really understood how Johnny did a lot of the things he did.

The wonderful bass voice erupted again, more loudly. It was more passionate now, but also much closer.

"_THE GENTLE GRIEVE THE STERN!!_

_THE PEACHES GRIEVE THE WOOORM_!

Ah, thanks be to ya, lovely."

The singing ended then, and Edgar knew the man was very close, considering his voice (it was unquestionably male) was just outside whatever room he'd wound up in.

A door opened. A thud and a "_oomph_". A door closed.

"Konnichiwa, my brothah."

Edgar shoved his glasses on frantically and searched for the voice's owner. Quickly, he found the singer. He sat there, disheveled and bleeding, but smiling. He waved a gloved (shoddy, fingerless, black gloves) hand.

"Er. Konnichiwa."

"What'chu in for?" the man asked genially.

He was an interesting character most certainly. Shaggy, black hair to his earlobes. A Goatee, accompanied by stubble. Reading glasses (that were soon discarded, considering they'd been well damaged by something- Johnny). Colorful, strange clothes. Natural highlights in his healthy, wavy hair.

Edgar thought he was a bit of hippie. Not that that was a bad thing.

"'In for'?" Edgar didn't feel threatened one bit. He was sure Johnny had kidnapped this guy. Besides, they were both in one of the rooms where Johnny kept fresh captives. Edgar knew it well. He'd met Tess here. The chairs he remembered, however, were gone. There was nothing but storage now. Paintings and paint equipment from countless years ago.

"Oh, yeah. I mean, I don't think the guy picks people up randomly," he smiled again. He looked pretty damn beat up. Had he put up a fight or something? Hadn't sounded like it. Ah, maybe Johnny had wanted him to stop singing. Assuming this was the Singing Man.

"I'm sorry, I don't-"

"I called him out for screamin' at some chick. He called me a bunch'a weird shit then managed to drag me here."

"Oh," Edgar got it now. Felt a little silly for not understanding a bit earlier. He'd reali_z_ed the question... but it was rather difficult to answer, "I can't really... say. I mean... I don't really know."

The man shrugged, "Huh. Well, maybe I'm wrong. Maybe he does pick up randomly."

Why was he so comfortable? Edgar was jealous.

"M'Canner. Canner... Rooney. Nice to meet ya, boy."

"Edgar Vargas."

"Eddy," he smiled, held out a bloody hand.

Edgar took it uneasily. It was embarrassing, but he was intimidated by Canner's exuberance. It was not a good feeling to find how sheltered he really was.

They shook hands, then the room fell into silence.

Edgar's cell phone rang.

END TWO

**BLAH, BLAH, BLAH #2**

It was fun to write, yes. However, I had trouble with Jimmy. Which sucks... because I am in madly in love with Jimmy. Very frustrating. Anyway, tell me what you think about that. I really need to know how I've done.

I'm getting sick of Edgar already. I'm going to get the ball rolling. S'really awkward to just type him all alone all the time. I'm not used to that. I really wanted to type _Z_arla's Scriabin in there a few times, but I resisted!!  
I promise Scri will make no appearances. I'm just sayin'

Reviews? They're motivation, y'know. CRITICI_Z_E ME. C'MON. _BRING IT_.

-**RINGO**

**PS: **I have another account here. "Akai Apple". Um... it's for manga fics. Yami no Matsuei and Bleach.

**PPS: **The song is "Sonora" by Big Mike. S'awesome. If you want a download of it, just mention it in a review!! ;-


	3. Life or Death Charades

Might As Well

**MIGHT AS WELL**

**BLAH, BLAH, BLAH**

I reali_z_ed this morning that I hadn't covered everything I'd meant to in chapter two. Oh, well. I'll do it here. At least it'll make the fic' even longer. ...Great.

Chapter one has been modified! A good two hundred or so words longer. I added some rather vital shit about Krik and Tess… but that's the only monumental change, I think. You'll probably be fine without reading it.

Ah. Sorry, another OC: Canner Rooney. Don't worry about it. His name, by the way, came from iROBOT. Hee. It was a derogatory nic-name given to the intelligent robot (Sonny! ...or 'Sunny'...?) by the main character during the interrogation. Used _once_.

Um. AND NOW I PRESENT TO YOU- CHAPTER THREE.

Yeah, this whole JtHM thing... it's not mine. It's Jhonen Vasque_z_'s. Beautiful.

**THREE  
****Life or Death Charades**

Indeed. Edgar had a cell phone.

There were two reasons he hadn't called the cops.

Firstly, he really didn't think his phone even worked anymore and he was too afraid to find out for sure. It had probably been deactivated. Sometimes, he'd turn it on for a light source, but he normally left it off, for he worried the batteries would run low and the light wouldn't come on anymore. He remembered those first, dark days. How disturbed he'd been… always feeling sick to his stomach. He'd lie in the rooms full of rotting corpses and jus stare at the plain, blue-and-white-striped background of his cell phone for comfort. Boy, he'd been bad off back then.

That didn't mean he was doing much better now. He really needed a shave and a shower, for one thing. And he hadn't used a proper bathroom for a long time. Months, according to Ham_z_a.

He was still in the disbelief regarding that… he hated to think he'd been festering in a homicidal maniac's endless basement for _two months_. It just didn't fit with his small life. He was used to tea, television, and sleep. There wasn't much else to him.

Ah, things were changing. Well... no. They _had _changed. It was just that he still couldn't handle it.

Now it was sitting, sleeping, and hallucinating. For food he'd eat little things Johnny left lying around. Sometimes, captives had food left in their pockets or book bags. Candy. Nutri-Grain bars. He remembered the one woman with grocery bags (that Nny had captured also). That had been very great. However, he'd exhausted that food source in only three days (Johnny was mad to find them stolen- he was apparently planning on killing the woman with them) 0and soon resumed trying _not _to eat the cockroaches.

He'd lost a lot of weight, obviously. And, needless to say, he'd really like to get home, even if there was no one waiting for him there.

Secondly and lastly, Edgar didn't think the police would even _do_ anything. What would he say, 'Ahem. Um. Excuse me? 911? Yeaaaah, I'm trapped in some maniac's _basement_.'? Well... that's exactly what he would say. There was nothing else _to _say. He simply doubted anyone would want to act on that.

Once, he'd called the police to report a theft (people noticed him enough to _steal _from him). They promised they'd be over the next morning to 'investigate'. Yeah, no one came. Every time he called, they made promises. Every time, no show. He decided never to called the cops again- he merely dealt with losses and ignored their occurrences. Sometimes he'd pretend he misplaced what had been robbed from him.

Like his bike. He'd just _misplaced_ it.

His _bike_.

"…Vargas speaking."

"Edgar!!" she sounded much more relieved than he'd thought she would have, considering the fact he thought she was _dead_.

"Tess?"

Canner snickered. Eddy was talkin' to a _giiiirl_.

"Somehow," there she was- blunt, cynical, hateful Tess. She was always so defensive when she talked to guys. Edgar wouldn't mind blaming Dillon and Krik for that.

"Look," she went on, "I need to ask you some stuff. Can you meet me-"

That was weird. What made her think he'd gotten out? Wait, how had _she_? "Tess, I can't."

"What? But why? You don't have a job or anything, so-" she wasn't angry. Just a little stressed, maybe.

"No, it's nothing like that," Edgar was relaxed. He was used to conversations with Tess. He knew Tess, "I'm still at Johnny's house."

"Edgar," he knew she shook her head with incredulity as she said it, "You've come _back_ to _life_, but you can't find your way out of some anemic's house? C'mon and get the fuck outta there!" she was certainly annoyed now. He supposed it _would _be frustrating to hear. Great. He was so pathetic it frustrated people. "Get up and get outta there now!"

He had told her about his death. She'd believed him, too, for the most part. And if she didn't believe him then, she certainly did now- she'd died and come back, too. She'd died when the Wall Thing burst up through the floor and took everyone and everything.

Thinking about it now, Edgar sort of understood Johnny's insanity- that wall thing was horrible and just as destructive as Johnny had always said it was. Edgar wasn't sure how Nny had known it would destroy everything... but that didn't really matter. Now he just wondered what the hell it was- there had to be an explanation.

He knew Ham_z_a and Eri_z_alem knew. He also knew he'd be seeing them again. He could ask them whenever they all met back.

"It's... not really that simple, Tess."

"...What do you mean?" And regardless how annoyed she felt, she was also concerned. They were really very close from that one day of bonding. They were very good for each other, and they both understood that.

Canner began humming over in his corner. Different song than the one from before. A bit... 'perkier' might be the word.

"I've been found. And Johnny's got me in captivity."

"How are you answering the phone then, Edgar?" He knew she suspected a lie. It actually was something he might do- lie for himself. He _was_ that kind of guy.

"Well, he hasn't done anything to us yet..." Edgar said, shooting a glance in the shaggy man's direction. Canner acknowledged him.

Tess was silent for a moment, "Edgar, meet me tomorrow at the coffee café at eleven. If you don't show up, _I'll abduct you_."

Edgar sighed, frustrated, "Will you call the police, Tess? I'm on the... fifth floor down. I don't even know how you got through to me."

Tess made a noise, but he didn't know what to make of it. Then, "I already called the police. Four times. The first time they said they'd investigate. The second they said they couldn't find it. Third, they told me it didn't exist. The fourth time I called they said it was taken care of."

"It wasn't."

"I didn't think so," she said venomously. Those cops would be getting a nasty visit.

"Look, I've gotta go," Clicking footsteps. Canner had stopped humming, even. They were probably gonna get brutalized in a few seconds.

"What? No, Edgar, you have to-" she was desperate now. Definitely alarmed.

"He's coming, Tessa. I have got to go," Edgar liked calling people by their full names. Tess didn't appreciate it, but it was a habit he couldn't help.

He turned off his phone and pocketed it swiftly. He made sure his glasses were secure, but that was really the only way he could prepare for what was bound to happen. He still wished he'd been able to clean them a bit more- things still appeared a little rusty and the edge of the lenses were almost completely blocked by dried blood. His peripheral vision was nonexistent, and that made him very nervous.

Canner didn't seem very frightened, but Edgar noticed now that the man's hands were bound. He didn't really know how he hadn't seen before, but he wished he had. He had seconds now to help him.

"Why didn't you say something!? Come here! We've got to get those off!" He'd been nervous enough before, but now he was outright panicking. He wasn't ready for this... and he certainly didn't think he'd be able to watch anything. That was exactly what he expected to do. He felt rather safe, himself. Not in any much danger at all. He figured if he were in danger he'd be long dead. And dying didn't seem to be much of a problem, either. The nervousness was mostly for Canner. The rest of it was purely instinctual.

Canner shrugged at Edgar, and, as he did so, the door opened and a very not happy Johnny stepped in slowly. He seemed to know that his presence would free_z_e them where they sat. Both of them were stiff and watching. Edgar's heart beat wildly, painfully almost. However, it still was not for himself, but for Canner, who didn't even move. He just smiled (it seemed a sad smile) at Edgar, and allowed himself to be dragged off, reposed.

Edgar still didn't understand how Nny could carry guys like Canner, who was a really big guy.

"Wait, _Nny_!!" Edgar scrambled to his feet, his thoughts all swirling around how strange his scream had just sounded. Nny was long gone, and Edgar scrambled out of the room after him, no plan whatsoever.

As he went, he asked himself what the hell he was doing. He found there were plenty of reasons for him to talk to Johnny- he was lonely... he needed to escape... he wanted to save Canner... he wanted to thank him for not killing Jimmy.

He stopped thinking about that. Every single one of those reasons was insufficient. There was _no valid reason _to concern himself with someone like Nny. Not a single reason.

Johnny hadn't had chance to get far, and Edgar soon found him, just ahead.

The maniac shoved Canner away and ahead, who stumbled into a wall and waited. Edgar wondered briefly if the man had no reason to live, like himself. Why wasn't he fighting? Edgar saw then that Canner was hurt very badly. He'd been stabbed for sure. He had trouble walking, but Johnny didn't seem to care at all.

This all seemed very planned on Johnny's part- like he was trying to antagonize Edgar or something with this. It was working.

Edgar went to assist Canner, very disturbed to see all of the blood that Canner had easily cloaked underneath his strange, dark jacket. He opened his mouth to speak and Johnny turned to Edgar.

With the single most horrifying expression Edgar had ever seen in his entire life displayed across his pale face.

The door slammed with an echo and Edgar shivered.

Pain was always somewhat present when Johnny looked at him. It was always there, just barely. But now... it had been completely gone. No pain, no indecision, not a single speck of guilt. Anger. Plenty of anger. And hate. More hate than Edgar had ever seen and ever would see.

But it was mostly just the bit about the absence of guilt that scared him. Now Edgar was seeing what Johnny was like when he killed people he _didn't_ like. When Johnny had killed_ him_... it had just been different somehow.

He was, still, having trouble understanding what Canner could have done. Canner said he _had_ done something to provoke Johnny. But the story hadn't been... maybe Canner had been rude in the way he defended this girl. Was that... possible? Maybe. When it came to Johnny, anyway.

Edgar found the door unlocked, and followed the new hall until he could feel the atmosphere change. Johnny was close. Cold as ever.

Not to mention the room he was approaching.

His room. The one he'd died in.

What kind of sick joke did Johnny think he was playing? This was so completely ridiculous.

Canner began singing. This time, no interruptions.

"_It was early morning yesterday_

_I was up before the dawn_

_And I really have enjoyed this day_

_But I must be movin' on..."_

Edgar liked Canner's voice. It was relaxing and it had a nice, clear tone. Not to mention that Canner was very talented. Earlier he'd been singing some very bass notes. This song was different. Higher. Or, at least, it had high parts. It was most definitely not mainstream music (not that Edgar knew anything about mainstream music) and he found he really liked it. He wasn't highly musical or anything... he'd taken some piano back in the early days, but he doubted he'd be able to play a single song if anyone set him down in front of a piano now. He doubted he'd remember a single _note_.

"_Like a king without a castle_

_Like a queen without a throne_

_I'm an early mornin' lover_

_And I must be movin on..."_

Edgar stopped listening. He was trying to figure out what he was going to do once he was there with them. He wanted to save Canner, yes. He didn't know _why- _he'd never saved any of the others. Not even Tess. He guessed that, maybe, it was because of the situation being different. This time, like with Jimmy, he was in a different position. This time, helping was easier.

"_...Now I believe that what you say_

_is the undisputed truth..."_

He was there then. At the door. He could hear whirrs and clicks as Nny calibrated whatever needed calibrating in the dreadful machine Edgar knew existed within.

He didn't understand how the machine had gotten there. The thing was built specifically for killing, it seemed, and Johnny had somehow managed to obtain it _and_ move it five floors underground. Maybe he'd made it himself? Would Johnny go that far just for a new, more interesting way to kill people...? That seemed very fanatical... Johnny didn't give off that vibe, really. At least, not about killing. Maybe about Freezies. It seemed he had a thing for those.

But where did the machines come from, then? _Did_ Nny manufacture them himself? Edgar did not have an answer.

"_I will go on shining, _

_shining like brand new._

_I never look behind me, _

_my troubles will be through..."_

Canner erupted into some rather gurgle-y coughs, then, and something wrenched at Edgar's heart. He wanted to move, go to the suffering man, but he couldn't yet- he was still fro_z_en with some perverse, horrid anxiety. Edgar didn't find it very fair that his own pitiable fear was the difference between life and death for so many people. It wasn't fair for him and it certainly wasn't fair for them. This in disregard of the fact that so many of the victims seemed to have deserved their fate.

With that, Edgar was about two centimeters closer to confronting Johnny.

"_Goodbye stranger, it's been nice,_

_hope you find your paradise."_

The line was strangely falsetto. It was sudden, and Edgar actually heard and registered the words. They just so happened to kick him into gear. Perhaps that had been the point...? He didn't know, but he wasn't much one for divine fate and whatnot.

He walked into the room and found Nny waiting for him.

He stood with his back to the doorway, hands clasped neatly behind his back. He looked up at Canner (Edgar was surprised to see the man already fitted in the painful harnesses- he'd expected such a thing to take longer), but with what expression, Edgar couldn't see. He approached slowly, as if he had a chance of surprising the maniac.

Not that he would want to. Surprising Johnny C. (in a way other than saying something particularly strange), if ever possible, would probably be a very bad idea. You'd probably be killed. Although, it didn't matter what you did with Nny- you'd probably be killed. Give him a gift, invite him over... hell, you didn't have to do anything at all for the guy to kill you. Edgar was, somehow, living proof of that.

"You can't control me, you know, Edgar," Johnny said, quietly and in a sickeningly pleasant tone.

Edgar swallowed, but only waited to hear more. Questioning the statement wouldn't get him anywhere.

Johnny turned to him, wearing that strange smile he sometimes had- as if maybe he were recollecting something pleasant. Or maybe that he was continuously amused by his situation. Or maybe that he was criminally insane. That was definitely possible.

"You can't. You think you do, but you can't control me. No one can. No one but me. I control me, Edgar! I control me- _**ME!!**_" he felt like this was a theme Johnny had addressed before, with someone else. His own words incensed him and he lost the contented composure he had worked up moments before. He spun around, twin knives already in hand, teeth bared and appearing unusually sharp. He certainly wanted to inflict some pain and anyone would do.

But Edgar was definitely _preferred_.

Edgar made a strangled sound. He wanted to protest, to invalidate Johnny's accusation. That didn't work out- it was contradicted by his instinctual need to voice his fear. He didn't _want _to voice his fear, however, and he ended up whimpering in his throat and recoiling. He wasn't doing very well for his 'going out in style' beliefs.

Johnny didn't react to Edgar's pathetic display. He was used to seeing such a thing, and he was certainly focused on something else other than embarrassing Edgar- hurting him. He had already accomplished his goal, in a way- Edgar's pride was wounded, and he'd carted off Canner and stuck him in the very room and machine he knew Edgar wouldn't like much (not that he'd ever like any of them). He was a conniving little maniac and Edgar didn't appreciate it at all.

Johnny was angry with him- presumably about the Jimmy incident which had gone down maybe two hours or so ago (but Edgar was no good judge of time, according to Ham_z_a).

"Me..." Johnny hissed gutturally at him. Very insane.

Apparently, it was Edgar's turn to speak. Johnny seemed to be waiting for him- for the last straw.

But Edgar had no words for him- only sounds and expressive gestures. He held his arms out at his sides and ducked his head as if to ask Johnny what he wanted. Then he threw and arm out at Canner and asked 'why' with his face. They were playing charades, now. Some fucked up version of it, obviously, but charades none the less. Neither of them were very good at it.

Johnny's enraged expression contorted into pure disgust. He didn't feel like playing charades. But this was _Life or Death_ Charades. You lose, you die. You win... well, you'll probably still die. Brilliant Catch-22.

"_What_?" Johnny threatened, the leather of his gloves creaking as his skeletal hands tightened around the hilts of his weapons.

Edgar swallowed and looked around the room for a minute- only just taking in where they were. His stomach turned and he made eye contact with Canner (who seemed pretty aloof) and wanted to throw up. But throwing up was against the rules of L/D Charades, and he certainly didn't feel like giving up the game quite yet. So he kept on with what he was doing.

He made another attempt at speaking. This time, he was minimally more articulate and he managed an awkward, "eh?" and made a frenzied gesticulation at Johnny's angry stance. What had he done that suggested the belief that he could _control Johnny_? Because he didn't think he could control him at all. If he could control Johnny, he'd be gone, and Canner would be gone, and no one would ever be murdered again. At least not by Johnny, anyway.

Yet he was fully in belief that Edgar was trying to control him, or that he already had. Johnny hadn't been angry with him before Jimmy came... all he'd done with Johnny regarding to that was... tell him... not to kill... Jimmy...

Oh, there it was. He'd saved Jimmy's life, and, consequently, put himself in another tight spot. Catch-22 again, wasn't it?

Johnny was fed up with waiting, then. In fact, Edgar was surprised the maniac's patience had lasted as long as it had, but this was a little more important to him then usual. His patience was gone, and he strode quickly and angrily to the lever that had ended his life two months before.

"Don't," Edgar said. He'd found his voice and used it well- he didn't sound scared or nervous or anything else. He sounded angry, defensive. He wasn't going to let Johnny do this.

Oh, fuck. _Did _he think he could control Johnny? That was a hamartia if there ever was one.

"_What_?" Johnny sounded as dangerous as ever.

"He didn't do anything."

The look Johnny gave reminded Edgar that, really, the guy didn't need a reason to kill. He was insane. And besides, he was probably trying to get revenge or something for Edgar's 'outrageous behavior'. Edgar didn't quite know why Johnny didn't just kill _him _for revenge, but it would hardly help asking himself that question _now_.

"And how would you know that?"

"He told me." Edgar knew it was a stupid answer, but he stood firm.

"And you simply take his word, Edgar? How do you know he isn't lying?"

"Because he _isn't_ lying," another lame come-back, but it was all he had that didn't go in depth. Going in depth wouldn't work- Johnny simply wasn't interested. At least the charades were over.

"What if I told you what really happened? What if I told you he lied?" Johnny didn't seem to have any one emotion at the moment. He merely seemed dangerous (probably as a result).

Edgar stood up straighter, hoping to appear somewhat sure of himself, "Then I wouldn't believe you."

Johnny squinted at him then, but Edgar couldn't tell if he was angry, confused, or otherwise.

"Interesting," he stated, easing up only a little. Then he strode for the lever again, "But I don't _care_ whether or not _you _believe he deserves this."

Edgar found himself on top of Johnny. Somehow, he had managed to crash into the anemic killer. Now his heart struggled to jump up out of his chest it was beating so hard. Palpitating painfully. He was in so much danger.

Johnny glared up at him, "_What_ do you think you're doing!?" he shrieked suddenly, shoving Edgar off with explicable animosity and inexplicable strength.

Edgar screamed back, despite himself, "What the hell is that supposed to mean? You were going to _kill him_!!"

Johnny had scrambled to his feet, and now he could only stare at Edgar, who merely lay there on his side, panting. He was having an internal episode- Edgar could tell. He twitched, glared at Canner, then fled the premises shrieking incoherently, much like he had before, with Jimmy.

Edgar fell back and heard Canner chuckle, "Aw, that was sweet of you, Eddy."

Edgar smiled, but was still far from calm. After a moment, he sat up and looked at Canner, who seemed so much more tired than he had in the room only minutes ago. Edgar suspected he was drunk.

"Mr. Rooney?" Canner's eyes were closed, his head bowed. Blood trickled from his temple and his lips.

He was responsive. His head lifted, only a little, and he cracked a weak grin, "Eddy?"

"Can you tell me how he got you up there?" Edgar couldn't really see the way to get the man down. It didn't seem feasible.

Canner's head ducked again- it had been a bit much to hold it up, "Nope. Sorry, I hadn't been payin' it much attention."

Edgar's jaw nearly dropped. Why wouldn't he pay attention to something like that? Wasn't escape important to him at _all_? ...That was a bit of a hypocritical thought...

"YOU."

Edgar froze and his shoulders shot up to his ears in a pathetic, apprehensive pose.

"GET. OUT."

Edgar turned around to face Johnny. The man had no weapons, but he was so much more dangerous than he had been before.

"I won't just-"

"GET OUT OF MY HOUSE!!" Johnny shrieked, thrusting a hand in the correct direction.

Edgar shot up the stairs, not really thinking. Somehow, he made it all the way to the ground floor. From there, he had no second thoughts about exiting the house. The clean air shocked him and his lungs, and gave him enough adrenaline to propel himself all the way to his home.

Which was weird, because he had no idea where he was. Eventually he saw a Taco Hell, which served as a landmark for him, and he made it home from there easily.

_You'll have to go back later_, said Ham_z_a, from somewhere, _It's not up to you_.

..._Why not? It should be,_ Edgar tried to reply, but he received no response.

He went into his apartment, sat down on a distantly familiar navy sofa, and began to shake. Tears threatened to spill over his defined cheekbones, but he was able to shoo them away. He calmed down soon enough, and showered. He felt weird, as though he'd woke from a ridiculous dream. He knew that wasn't right- he hadn't been dreaming. He was filthy, starving, in need of a shave. You didn't get like that from one night of sleep. At least, most people did not.

Once he shimmered with cleanliness, he found his voice and began to hum some of the music he'd been missing for so long. He shaved the majority of his facial hair and was happy to see the old Goatee that had been concealed for a while now. His glasses simply needed replacing, which he could easily do in the morning.

With Tess. He would call Tess, get his new glasses. He went into his bedroom for a nice, long sleep, but found as he set his glasses down on his bed-side table that it was ten o' clock in the morning. He sighed, ran a hand through his finally clean hair, and grabbed his car keys. He'd get some glasses now. And food.

As he drove, he wondered why he was so at ease. How could he escape a hell like _Nny's house_ and be so contented afterward? Maybe it needed to sink in or something. Maybe he'd get all crazy about it later. Still, he was happy Tess was still around. She'd prove a great ally after all of this crap.

He pulled into _The Trumpet_, a fancy, nationally famous French restaurant that was owned by an old school acquaintance of Edgar. The man was a cooking genius who had not even managed to finish college before starting his own chain of restaurants. He was twenty-three, and he stood a mere five feet and six inches. Adam Rice.

Edgar didn't know that he had decided to treat himself with something nice until he sat down and pulled the fabric napkin onto his lap.

"Huh, haven't seen you for a while! How the heck are you?" the waiters and waitresses knew him. That's why he came here. They probably knew a lot of their regulars, but he still couldn't get over the fact that these people knew his _name_.

The young man who stood beside him in sharp uniform was Christian Sherry, manager Rice's alleged boyfriend. Edgar hadn't asked about that yet, but it was really none of his concern. In all honesty, the idea that someone was gay made Edgar nervous. He didn't _want _to be phobic of it all, but it really didn't seem to be up to him.

He should probably get that mindset fixed- it really made him pretty lax.

Edgar smiled at Chris, "I'm good, I'm good," he said, pulling up his menu, "You?" He felt golden. Getting out of Johnny's place... hell, he really should have done that a long time ago. Why hadn't he, again...?

"Spectacular," Chris winked, but Edgar didn't know what he meant. The boy pulled up his notepad and asked, "What will you be having?" Edgar had forgotten- their conversations only lasted to a length that was courteous, not colloquial. They weren't _friends_.

"Just the usual," Edgar tried smiling again, but he knew it didn't work this time.

Chris strode off then in that happy way he always did, as if on roller blades or something. Edgar felt alone all of the sudden. He really wanted to connect with someone. He needed to- everyone did. He saw what happened to the lonely Johnny.

_Tess_.

He thought about calling her, but then figured that would be a bit abrupt. Besides, he had a lot of things he should probably do first. He was starving, and he had food on the way. He was blind, and he needed to go fetch a new pair of glasses.

Which wouldn't take too long, presumably, his prescription had never changed in all his life, and it was one of the common ones that you could buy glasses for at the grocery store.

Speaking of, he should buy groceries.

And this 'buying' stuff... he should probably try for another job. He'd save that for later- getting a job was much more of a task than showering, obviously.

He ate his food and talked a bit more to Chris, telling him he had gone on a great, big vacation somewhere else. The kid was nice enough to ask about Molly, Edgar's imaginary girlfriend. Because he had hopes for better things, Edgar told Chris that they broke up. Christian told him that was an utter shame, winked at him, and skated away in that way he did, dishes in hand. Edgar paid and left, leaving a lovely tip.

He drove nervously (he could barely see) to the optometrist's and thoroughly freaked out when he got there.

A red and silver glasses case at the front desk for him. Sloppy, thick, all-capital handwriting depicted his name on a piece of paper wrapped around it- "**EDGAR VARGAS**". Underneath, in scrawly, fancy cursive... _Hamza_.

He didn't open the case until he was back in his little car. He didn't need miniature demons and things leaping from the velvet case in the middle of a public building. Well, he didn't need that at all, frankly.

Inside was a lovely pair of glasses. Silver-rimmed and rectangular. Chic. He put them on and was only just surprised to find that they were his prescription. He smiled a little, but wondered why the demon was stalking him and helping him get what he needed faster. Still, he was worried about what Ham_z_a's voice had told him earlier.

The glasses had transition lenses, as he found when he begun to drive. He began to whistle (something he had minimal talents) contentedly.

Then. Ham_z_a spoke again, determined to keep him from having any peace, it seemed.

_You have six hours, Vargas. Make peace_.

END THREE

**BLAH, BLAH, BLAH #3**

...I'm sad with that ending! Usually I can make it all cliff-hanger-y, but this one's stupid! )

Wow. Okay. ORIGINAL CHARACTERS EVERYWHERE. I'm sorry, really.

Next chapter shall contain Johnny's house, Johnny, and maybe Jimmy!! Unfortunately, a little Hamza and Erizalem!

Wooh. Here I sit, bruised and beaten, but triumphant. This chapter hates me so much. It's the worst so far. I'll try harder next time, I promise.

Sorry for reposting chapters so much. I retype things a lot because they bug me so much when I reread them.

I want a beta-reader very badly. If you're interested, please say so in a review or ask for my e-mail or something. THANKS.

Hey, I need your reviews, guys. You don't review, I don't update. I think it makes sense.

Oh, and I really like criticism. Take a crack at it- I'll love you forever.

Special thanks to Desdemona for the support and inspiration and special thanks to Lady Yate-xel for the awesome constructive criticism and the motivation!

OVER AND _OUT_.

-**RINGO**


	4. HEY, READERS

THIS FIC WAS DEAD, BUT I HAVE BEGUN TO WORK MORE ON THE NEXT CHAPTER. REVIEW IF YOU ARE INTERESTED IN UPDATES!


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